


Now Your Heart's an Eclipse

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Keith & Krolia (Voltron) on the Space Whale, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Magical Realism, Mutual Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Season/Series 06, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27880290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: One year on the space whale with the person Keith still can't manage to call his mom, Keith receives an unexpected visitor— Shiro, from the before the Kerberos Mission.Or: Keith processes his feelings on his parents, his feelings for Shiro, and his fears about the future.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 70
Kudos: 295





	Now Your Heart's an Eclipse

**Author's Note:**

> I'm forever here to write more time travel shenanigans. The world asks for the sexy time travel shenanigans and instead I say, "Okay, but what if Keith wanted to talk about his mom issues?!" So anyway, here we are. 
> 
> You know how we make jokes about projecting onto Shiro and Keith? Anyway, this is a fic in which I super projected onto them both so lmao who doesn't want to read 14k of parental angst? 😂 Enjoy!
> 
> A enormous thank you to [Hiro](https://twitter.com/bioplast_hero) and [Abbey](https://twitter.com/sepiacigarettes) who listened to me waffle about this fic. Thanks for your support and encouragement to go this route despite my worry. You are both gems. 
> 
> Thank you to [Meg](https://twitter.com/kedawen) for reading this over for me!

Keith has been on the space whale with Krolia for over a year— and he’s still angry with her. 

He hates that he is, but he knows it’s true. He’s held the tangled ball of his thoughts and emotions on his absent mother for his entire life, stretching further back than his memories allow. He doesn’t remember what it ever felt like not to long for his family, after all, and trying to untangle that emotional ball has proven a difficult task. 

He knows her reasons. He forgives her for leaving— for doing what needed to be done. In the end, he knows this, but it doesn’t stop him from feeling _angry_ — and that anger makes him feel guilty, in turn. He’s stuck on a space whale with his actual _mother_ and he doesn’t know what it is he wants from the situation. He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for, when it comes to her. 

She hasn’t done anything to warrant his anger since they ended up on this whale, but it’s an ever-present feeling that hangs over him like a pall. Like he’s waiting, somehow, for justification that he’s better off without her, that she doesn’t care about him at all, that eventually she’ll just leave again. 

It’s inevitable. 

Today, he’s at the river. Because of course the sentient, massive space whale has rivers, he thinks. The wonders never cease, really. He can still remember his bone-deep shock the first time he found the river, after a few days there. 

It’s warm enough in the air that Keith doesn’t need to brace himself before stripping off the Blade suit to wash it. Despite the robust ecosystem on the whale, he and Krolia haven’t found anything they can turn into a usable textile. Keith’s been wearing the same flight suit for over a year now, stripping it off to wash it in the river and sitting around naked until it’s dried. 

A full year. Time flows funny on the whale and they spent the first few weeks not really counting their time here, never expecting to be stuck as long as they have. Eventually Krolia set up a time table to record the passage of the seasons, much as it’s a nebulous thing in the Quantum Abyss. Still, Keith’s suit _feels_ like he’s been wearing it for a year, all faded and worn at the elbows, and that feels as good a calendar as anything else. 

He finishes scrubbing out his suit and lays it on his favorite big stone to sun-dry. He then wades into the water to wash himself. Thanks to some trial and error over this past year, he’s able to withstand the chill of the water without even flinching, and there’s a certain algae that grows in the more stagnant parts of the water that works as a serviceable antibacterial loofa. It’s not soap, but it’s as close as he can get without resorting to scrubbing with pebbles. 

Sometimes the wolf, growing every day, lingers at the shoreline with him. Today Keith went to the river while he was sleeping, curled up near the fire as Krolia skinned and prepared their fresh hunt from that morning. 

Bathing is one of Keith’s rare moments alone with just his thoughts, free from the weighty silence of Krolia or the wolf’s ever-seeking attention.

Krolia had praised Keith on his knifework earlier that morning, after they brought down one of the strange crab-creatures that scuttle in the hills near the whale’s hump, and Keith had hated the flush of pleasure and pride that slammed through him at the words. He didn’t want to want it. 

He’d left for the river shortly after that, leaving Krolia tending the fire. 

Anger doesn’t sit well with Keith for as much as he’s lived with it. It feels like it’s woven through his entire being. He was born angry, maybe. Social workers and group homes alike described him as an angry child, a problem child, a discipline case. Keith never wanted to be, but once the label was slapped onto him, it was too hard to shake it loose. He became angry, maybe. The more people expected Keith to be angry, the angrier he became.

He’s used to his anger— flashing like a wildfire, burning bright. With Krolia— with the woman he still can’t manage to refer to as ‘mom’, not even in his own head— it’s a silent sort of anger. He hates the way Krolia robs him of words, how he goes mute with it. It sits and it simmers and it festers. He hates it. 

It’s not even intentional, he knows, just instinctive. He thinks of everything he could say, everything he’s supposed to say, and it never comes. He swallows it back down. 

He knows what his dad would say if he were still alive: family is all you’ve got. You have to take the good and the bad. His dad was always sentimental like that.

But Krolia isn’t family. Not really, not yet. 

His dad was family. And he’s gone. Keith’s memories of him are vague. More often than not, if he thinks of him, he can only guess at what he might say, what he might sound like, what he might do. His memories are polished with a childhood veneer. He wonders if he ever really knew his father. 

Shiro is his family. Shiro is the one who’s always been there for him, the one who’s stuck by him in the good and the bad. If his dad would say family is all you have, and you have to take the good and bad— then that’s Shiro. He’s only known Shiro for a couple years, but it feels like eternity. It’s been a year since he’s seen him, more than that if he counts the time he was away with the Blades, and he misses Shiro. 

Missing Shiro is an ever-present ache on the space whale, too. It doesn’t help when the memories flash and slam all his moments with Shiro out in the open, for all to see. He misses his voice, his smile. He misses the way Shiro always seemed to understand him, even when Keith couldn’t understand himself. 

Keith throws the algae back into the water now that he’s finished scrubbing his chest. It floats away on the current. 

He still has some time before his suit is dry. He settles in for a long soak. 

He sinks down into the water, wetting his hair and remerging, wading through the shallows of the river up to his waist. The light from the infinite stars around them, ripping through so many black holes, beats down on his shoulders. The first few months on the space whale, he suffered awful sunburns because of all the insane UV light. Since the whale has continued its migration or since Keith’s gotten used to the brand of sunlight, it’s gotten better— but only just. Nothing seems to work well as sunblock aside from mud, but the mud defeats the purpose of getting clean. 

Keith stares into the water, lost in his thoughts. His wobbly reflection stares back up at him, but Keith looks past it, diving into the deep, resounding well of his thoughts. That’s mostly all he’s done for this past year— think and think and think. 

It never really helps. 

He looks up when he feels the swell of time and magic rising in the distance. The memory flashes are so much like sunrises now, bright and blinding if one looks directly, but softening in its aftermath. He braces himself as it flows over him, like a stone a river, ready to see one of his or Krolia’s many memories thrown up in sharp focus. 

Krolia’s memories always hurt— either he sees his dad in those fleeing moments or he sees all the things Krolia has done without Keith or his dad in her life. Seeing Krolia’s childhood is the worst, he thinks. Seeing someone who looks so much like Keith happy with her parents feels like a knife to the gut. He hates all the reminders of the ways he might be like her. 

She left to protect them. Keith hardly feels like he was protected. Worst of all, he hates the thought that he could leave loved ones so easily, too. 

He closes his eyes as the light bathes over him, nearly-blinding. He waits for the memory. 

But none arrive. When the light recedes, Shiro stands at the shore’s edge, the lingering glittering of space sparking around him like too many gems. 

Keith startles, wondering if he’s somehow hallucinating it— Shiro stands, arms raised to block his eyes from the bright light. It takes Keith a moment to register what he sees— Garrison uniform, the medical bracelets flashing in the light, his two flesh hands, his hair dark all the way through, and, when Shiro drops his arms, an unscarred face. 

“S- Shiro?” Keith asks, taking a step back towards the river’s shoreline. 

“Keith?” 

Keith watches this young Shiro, this achingly young Shiro, turn bright red as he takes in Keith’s nakedness. 

Shiro is abrupt in his movements. He stares at Keith for half a second and then he tears off his large coat. He moves quickly, stumbling into the water so he can wrap his jacket around Keith’s slim shoulders. Shiro’s trousers cling to his legs as he wades in. The act is so instinctive, so fast, that Keith barely comprehends it before he feels the fabric drape over him. 

The simple action nearly breaks Keith’s heart. Shiro always seeks to protect Keith, even now. Seeing it, experiencing it, after so long separated from him is nearly overwhelming. Absurdly, Keith feels the sting of tears at the back of his eyes, but he blinks rapidly to shoo the urge away. 

He can’t remember the last time he felt the weight of a wool coat, the Garrison branding on its breast. Shiro avoids his eyes, blushing furiously as he closes the buttons at the top so Keith’s essentially wearing the coat like a cape, covering his body enough to shield him. 

“What are you doing here?” Shiro asks, glancing at Keith once he’s covered properly. 

Keith wants to laugh. He also kind of wants to cry. Instead, he just stares— drinking Shiro in. “I should ask you that.” 

Shiro stands in the river with him, trousers dark with water and his arms bared in his shirtsleeves. It’s like he just walked onto the whale out of a Garrison hallway. 

Keith’s heart _aches_. There’s no reasonable explanation for how Shiro could be here, the fading light of space-magic ghosting across his shoulders like long-settled dust. The weight of him feels too real. 

Keith hasn’t seen Shiro in so long. His thoughts swirl in rapid-fire, wondering about the team— if time is the same, if they’re still searching for Keith, if they even care that Keith is gone, if they’ve even noticed—

Shiro’s hands fumble, gripping Keith’s shoulders and guiding him carefully out of the river. It’s very like Shiro, Keith thinks, to fuss and worry rather than try to take stock of what’s going on around him or where he even is. Keith takes priority. 

Keith’s vision swims again at the thought of it. He blinks again, taking a steadying breath. 

Once back on the river’s edge, Shiro studies him— his frown tilting his lips downward. He takes a breath, really just looking at Keith, his hands lingering on his shoulders. Then, he tilts his head, brow furrowing. 

“… Are you taller?” 

Keith feels that same urge to laugh and cry at once. He doesn’t know if he’s any taller. It’s hard to judge such things when stuck in the Quantum Abyss. He hasn’t seen his reflection properly beyond the wavery images in the river or on his blade’s edge in so long. 

“Maybe you’re shorter,” Keith says. He’s not sure if he means to tease. It feels so foreign to stand with Shiro like this. Just like old times, maybe. Nostalgia blooms within him. 

Shiro frowns, like he’s unsure if he should laugh or pout. He settles for somewhere in-between and it’s too endearing. He can’t remember the last time he saw Shiro look like this— from before Kerberos, certainly. Keith’s heart is overfull. 

“How are you here?” Keith asks. 

The urge to hug Shiro twists through him. He moves before he can think about it, doesn’t give Shiro the chance to answer before he’s wrapping his arms around Shiro’s waist and clinging. Shiro makes a sound of surprise but his arms close around Keith so easily, the reaction instant as he pulls Keith against his chest. 

Shiro is smaller than he was on the Castle of Lions. Or maybe Keith really has grown. Maybe it’s a mix of both, but it doesn’t make Shiro’s embrace any less reassuring. Keith feels enclosed in the best way, enveloped and known. He closes his eyes, sinking against Shiro. He lets the hug linger for far longer than he normally would, his nose pressed against Shiro’s clavicle. 

Shiro rubs his back. It’s infinitely reassuring, his palms sliding down Keith’s body and leaving shivers in their wake. Keith draws in a shaky breath, trying to steady himself. All he wants to do is melt into Shiro and never let go. 

“I’d answer your question,” Shiro says at last. “But to be honest, I have no idea where ‘here’ even is.” 

With some effort, Keith draws back to look up at Shiro. All things considered, Shiro’s taking the sudden relocation rather well. Keith doesn’t let himself hope that it might be because he’s here beside him. 

The complications of the time-space continuum aren’t lost on Keith. The Quantum Abyss is an impossible-to-predict area of space and that Shiro is here feels like a big fuck-up. He can’t recall Shiro ever mentioning being whipped away through space and time to show up on a distant sentient space whale to meet an older Keith and yet here he stands. 

Shiro looks around in wonder. To him, it must seem like some bizarre forest, but Keith knows from experience just how the very air smells wrong, thicker than it should, gravity a strange entity of sometimes too full and sometimes too light. The sky above isn’t a sky at all, but endless looping celestial bodies warping through space. 

“… Am I dreaming?” Shiro asks. His eyes are on a triple black-hole loop in the distance, nearly blinding to look at for its abyssal darkness. He looks wondering. 

“No,” Keith says, fretting over the ethics of time travel. He isn’t prepared for this. “Uh.” 

Shiro, however, seems strangely calm. His brow crinkles in thought. “You look older. Those are stars.” He pauses. “This isn’t going to be a ‘you’ve been in a coma for ten years’ thing, is it?” 

“More like three years,” Keith says, and watches Shiro’s eyes widen. “And no, I don’t think it’s a coma thing. I’m, uh, not quite sure how to explain this.” 

“You don’t have to explain,” Shiro says because he’s far too kind. He frowns down at Keith, adjusting the top button of his coat, as if he might be worried about Keith becoming chilled. “Why are you naked in a river?”

Keith snorts. “I was bathing.” He nods towards his suit, drying still on the boulder he set it on. “I have limited clothes here, so I was just waiting for that to dry.”

“Oh,” Shiro says, blinking. 

“So,” Keith says, biting his lip. 

Shiro waits even as Keith hesitates. He gestures with a small flip of his hand, his smile light. “It’s okay, Keith. You can tell me anything or nothing.”

It’s the smallest statement and yet it manages to set Keith at ease. He lets out a low breath. “So… This is a magical, massive whale floating through space and I’ve been stuck here for about a year.”

Shiro’s expression goes through a series of complicated twists. It seems his concern for Keith outweighs the fantastic nature of the words, because his eyes are gentle, but sad, when he asks, “By yourself?”

Keith hesitates and doesn’t know why he does. He looks down. “No. I’ve been here with Krolia. Uh. With my— mom, I guess.” 

Keith isn’t sure what he expects Shiro to say in response to that. Shiro knows Keith’s circumstances, and so it isn’t a surprise when Shiro brightens and exclaims: “Keith! That’s great news!” 

Keith has to look away, ashamed of his lack of enthusiasm about his situation. Shiro’s shown more delight than Keith’s felt in over a year. 

“Yeah. I guess it is.” 

Shiro notices Keith’s reaction. It’s kind of hard not to, Keith supposes— of course Shiro notices. 

Shiro sobers, expression thoughtful. The hand that touches Keith’s shoulder feels overwhelming, like even the slightest push would send Keith crumbling to the ground. Shiro breathes out the softest hum of understanding when he feels Keith tense beneath his touch. 

“You don’t agree?” 

Shiro always was far too observant. He’s been here for only a few minutes and yet he locks onto Keith’s moods immediately. It makes Keith’s heart lurch into his throat. Shiro’s always known him completely. 

Maybe, in all this time, Keith hasn’t changed at all since this Shiro knew him. Somehow, it’s a reassuring and depressing thought at once. 

“It’s a lot,” Keith says softly. It’s something that he can admit to Shiro, if only to Shiro. 

Shiro nods. “I understand.” 

Keith looks at him, feeling wobbly-footed. Shiro never did pity him when it came to things like that— but it’s what he would expect from Shiro. When he looks at Shiro, he looks far too understanding. But of course he’d understand when it comes to parents. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I guess you would.” 

-

Shiro and Keith sit by the river, waiting for Keith’s suit to dry. At Keith’s insistence, they sit beneath the trees. While Keith’s used to the UV rays on the space whale, he despairs to think of Shiro getting sunburned so badly that it would be painful. It’ll be hard enough making sure there’s enough food for the four of them— Krolia, Keith, the wolf, and now Shiro. 

Keith doesn’t know how long Shiro will be here for. Space-magic lingers around him like dust motes. Keith doesn’t know if there’s a way to send him back or if the timeline has completely disrupted itself. Maybe, once Keith finally gets off this damn whale, he’ll bring this Shiro with him and he’ll meet his older self and—

And that’s where his brain starts to hurt trying to make sense of time paradoxes. 

It’s Keith’s tendency to either jump into things without thinking or to hyper-analyze every single possibility that could happen. He’s thinking too far ahead, to a future that isn’t here yet, but he can’t help it. 

Still, as they sit, Keith tries to explain all he can about the situation. He keeps everything as vague as he thinks is safe— no mention of Voltron, of Shiro’s trip to Kerberos. Shiro, it seems, understands the concepts of time travel better than Keith— he always did love reading those trashy sci-fi novels, well-worn and well-loved with their cracked spines sitting by his bedside back at the Garrison— and so doesn’t press Keith for more details. He just nods, hums, and accepts what Keith tells him. 

So, instead, Shiro says, “Tell me about your mom?” 

Keith hunches in on himself a bit, hugging his knees.

“Only if you want,” Shiro adds. “You know sometimes talking can help.” 

And Keith knows Shiro means that. There’s no insistence or gossipy curiosity in Shiro’s eyes. It’s only an open invitation for Keith to share his thoughts without guilt. Shiro has always been good at that— at knowing when Keith wants to talk and when he wants to be quiet. 

“She’s an alien,” Keith says. Might as well cross that bridge now. It’ll be obvious she isn’t human when they make their way back to camp. 

Shiro’s eyebrows shoot up and then furrow. And then he laughs. 

“Is that funny?” Keith asks.

Shiro shakes his head. “I just— of course my best friend is part alien. That’s so cool.” 

Keith’s cheeks glow red from the title. He can’t help it. Even now, it makes his heart leap to hear Shiro refer to him as his best friend. He ducks his head and fiddles with the woolen sleeves of Shiro’s coat. How Shiro knows him, back home, this coat would swallow him whole. 

“I guess that explains how you could be out here in space, then,” Shiro says, and still doesn’t press Keith for the details. 

Keith bites his lip. He could leave Shiro to think it— that Krolia returned to Earth to find him, to bring him into the stars. 

Keith, desperately, wants to tell him everything— he wants to lay his head in Shiro’s lap and weep, wants to tell him everything he’s missed and everything that will come, wants to tell him of how desperately, painfully, spiritually he has missed him. How Shiro is the only person who’s ever made Keith feel like he belongs. 

“I don’t think she planned to find me out here,” Keith says. He stares out at the river, unsure what else to say. “It was coincidence we met. She wasn’t looking for me.” 

Shiro’s quiet at that. Keith despairs, worrying he’s sounded too morose, too bitter. The anger leeched into his voice despite his best efforts. He keeps doing that, when it comes to Krolia. 

But Shiro’s hand is a comforting weight when it lands on Keith’s shoulder again. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t _need_ to say anything, and Keith doesn’t speak in turn. He just leans into the touch, knowing that Shiro understands. 

“I’ve been on this damn whale for a year now,” Keith says. “And it still doesn’t feel normal. I…” He glances at Shiro and then away again, biting his lip. “It’s been difficult. It’s just the two of us. And the wolf.”

“The wolf?” 

“Oh, yeah, I rescued a space wolf that crash landed here,” Keith says and watches Shiro’s eyes light up in surprise. Keith fights a smile. “He’s really smart. You’d like him. He’s been great.” 

“I’m glad, Keith,” Shiro says. 

“Once my stuff is dry, we can head back and you can meet him.” 

“And your mom, too?” 

“Her name is Krolia,” Keith says, looking down and fiddling with the sleeves of Shiro’s coat again. It’s easier than looking Shiro in the eye. He knows Shiro’s looking at him, studying him— and he also knows that Shiro won’t judge. Shiro’s hand smooths across his shoulder, a comforting weight, and lingers as he draws away to ghost down his arm. He squeezes his upper arm once before letting go. 

And then Shiro nudges against his shoulder, just the simplest little tap. “Hey.” 

“Mm?” 

“Remember, I’m here to listen,” Shiro says. “But you don’t have to tell me anything.” 

Keith feels a breath rush out of him, relief to have been given the invitation again. Shiro always knew what to say. He always knows when to remind Keith, when to push him, when to let him come to him. 

Maybe he puts too much weight into everything Shiro does. But Shiro is a comfort. Shiro is home. 

“It’s just— weird,” Keith says. “Seeing her. Getting to know her. I mean… I don’t know. How would you feel if your dad suddenly showed up in your life again and wanting to know you, you know? That kind of thing.” 

Shiro doesn’t flinch or withdraw at the question, but he does take a deep breath. He lets it out slowly and his smile is empathetic. Keith nudges back against his shoulder, embarrassed and ashamed despite himself, but Shiro’s expression radiates only comfort. He’s not upset with Keith and the tension eases from Keith’s shoulders. 

“Anyway,” Keith says, looking away from him and climbing to his feet. “My suit will be dry by now. We should head back. Are you hungry? Krolia was skinning stuff before I left, so there’ll probably be food.” He looks at Shiro, frowning. “There’s, uh, fruit, too. If you don’t want to eat meat.” 

“I don’t want to cause trouble,” Shiro says with a shrug. 

Keith snaps his hand out, holding it out to Shiro. Shiro’s smile grows and he grasps it tight in his, letting Keith haul him to his feet. He feels so light now as Keith pulls. He can’t recall if Shiro was always so light back at the Garrison, like he’s struggling to keep weight on. 

Keith remembers Shiro being so big, so strong, even before Voltron. But looking at Shiro now, Keith can see the differences— how much leaner Shiro actually is. Strong and defined, but hardly what Keith would describe as muscular. His wrists look so slim, bangled by the medical stimulation bracelets. 

Shiro looks away politely, dusting off his pants as Keith dresses in his freshly clean suit. Once he’s finished dressing, he holds the coat back out to Shiro, who ties it around his waist rather than put it back on. 

He shrugs. “It’s pretty warm here, isn’t it?” 

“It gets really cold a night, though.”

“Like the desert,” Shiro says with a smile as they start picking their way through the trees. Shiro follows closely behind Keith. 

“Stick with me, okay?” Keith says, although it’s hardly necessary with how closely Shiro shadows him. “Most of the animals on this whale are harmless, but there are a few that will attack if they’re startled. And I’m sure there’s some that I haven’t even seen yet.”

Shiro nods. “Lead the way, Keith.” 

It’s a quiet walk back to camp. The wolf perks up as they approach, chirping happily when he recognizes Keith. He flashes in and out, jumping into his arms. He’s so small, but he’s gaining weight fast. Keith catches him, letting him lick his face.

Krolia is by the fire, roasting the animals she skinned earlier. She looks up and startles when she spots Shiro standing behind him. She doesn’t leap to her feet or grab for her blade, though, likely because she’s recognized Shiro from the memories. 

It’s almost reassuring to see her reaction. It means Shiro’s actually here and not a figment of Keith’s lonely imagination. 

“He appeared in that last memory flash,” he says. “The one that didn’t show us anything.” 

Krolia is silent, slowly standing and stepping away from the fire. She’s so tall, well over Keith and Shiro’s heights. In the memories, she towered over Keith’s dad, too. The distant part of Keith wonders how he could have two exceptionally tall parents and yet still be comparatively short. 

He wishes the thought could amuse him rather than make him feel bitter, for all the things his parents have given him and haven’t given him. It’s a stupid thing to be frustrated over. It doesn’t matter. 

There are plenty of things from his childhood that would have stunted his growth, stress and anxiety least of all. It was inevitable he’d be on the shorter side. 

“This is Krolia,” Keith says and can’t stomach to say, _my mom._ He just gestures. The omission is obvious, and he knows both Krolia and Shiro notice it.

But Shiro smiles and steps froward, offering his hand. Krolia puzzles at it and then grasps Shiro’s arm in the traditional Galra style. 

“Humans shake hands,” Keith says and wonders if he sounds angry with her. 

Krolia frowns. But Shiro shakes his head, lifting his hand to mimic Krolia and grasp her forearm, too. “It’s nice to meet you, Krolia. Uh, circumstances aside.” 

Krolia nods once, but otherwise stays quiet. She gets like that sometimes, only observing and never speaking those observations aloud. Keith thinks it must be a consequence of being undercover so many times or simply being on her own. Keith thinks she’s making an effort to talk more with him, but their conversations are often stilted and awkward. Or maybe Keith’s projecting. 

“I’ve made food,” she says, turning away and moving back towards the fire. She moves in that slow, graceful way of hers. Keith understands why Hunk tends to refer to Galra as giant space cats when he looks at Krolia, at the way she moves. She’s like a panther.

She sits down and offers skewers to Shiro and to Keith. 

It’s an awkward meal, but that’s hardly new. Keith and Krolia have spent many meals in absolute silence, sometimes comfortable and sometimes uncomfortable. With Shiro here, Keith is cosmically aware of everything they do— all the things they don’t say, all the glances Keith avoids, the almost overwhelmingly loud sound of chewing. 

The meat is flavorless and stringy on his tongue. He never realized how much he took spices and salt for granted until he spent months eating bland meat and vegetables scavenged on the whale. Then again, if it’s a question of staying alive or not, Keith knows he can’t be picky. 

Shiro makes small talk with Krolia, who struggles to respond. Keith doesn’t know if it’s a combination of Krolia herself, the fact she’s speaking with Shiro, or just the entire situation, but eventually the conversation tapers off into silence.

Something twisted coils inside Keith’s chest. He doesn’t know how to describe it. He hunches in on himself and eats his food. 

-

The next few days pass in a similar fashion, with Shiro adjusting to being at camp with Keith and Krolia. He takes to the wolf easily, who’s always quick to beg for food from him. Krolia leaves the camp often, hunting for extra food to make sure there’s enough for all four of them. 

Shiro was a Boy Scout as a kid and Keith thinks that Shiro delights in the opportunity to camp in space. He helps Keith build up and maintain the fire, and even helps him readjust the overhanging woven mats he and Krolia made a few months ago to create an outcropped overhang at the entrance of the cave— it’ll offer wind protection, extra shade, and a way to collect rainwater, Shiro says proudly. He adjusts and re-ties ropes made from woven bark stripped from trees and compliments Keith on his resourcefulness on food storage. 

Keith knows a thing or two about survival, although the first few months on the whale were a learning process. The whale is much different from a year in the desert, squirreled away on his family’s old property. He hadn’t needed to build his own shelter then, and he’d had enough rations and canned goods, and money to buy more canned goods from the dollar store, so he’d never had to go hunting then. 

He likes to think he’s come a long way, but he’s not sure if he actually has. Shiro beams at him like he’s done something brilliant and Keith has to duck his head. He feels Shiro’s eyes on him so often, like he’s studying him or drinking him in. Keith has no idea what he sees. 

“Do you think I’ll be here for a while?” Shiro asks in the afternoon, watching Keith poke at the fire. It’s letting out more smoke than he’d like but he can’t figure out which of the logs he placed is too sappy or wet. 

Keith looks up, biting his lip. “I don’t know, Shiro.”

He wants to speculate further, but Keith feels the pinpricks at the back of his neck that means a memory surge is coming. His shoulders tense up, but he doesn’t have a chance to warn Shiro before the swell of light is on them.

Keith clenches his eyes shut, terrified that when he opens them, Shiro will be gone again. 

Instead, it’s a flash of a memory— Keith, young and scrappy, learning how to use a jump rope. It’s an inconsequential memory but it makes Keith’s heart clench when his dad steps in to scoop him up after Keith trips over his own feet and starts crying. 

His dad is huge and Keith looks small in his arms. But he’s soothing, too, shushing Keith and rocking him until he stops crying. He buries his face in his dad’s shirt and doesn’t stop clinging.

His dad rocks him gently even as the memory fades. 

Keith sees Shiro through his swimming vision. He blinks rapidly to clear the involuntary tears that spring up every time he sees his dad. He ducks his head, shoving a stick hard into the fire, so hard the tentative teepee they’ve built with logs nearly collapses. 

“What—” Shiro begins.

“They’re memories,” Keith says. “The Quantum Abyss is funny with time, like I told you. It just will show memories sometimes.” 

His tone is brusque, but it doesn’t put Shiro off. Sometimes it breaks Keith’s heart to think of all the ways he shoves against Shiro, always expecting that he’ll finally back off and never return again, only for Shiro to always, relentlessly, stick by his side. Keith still isn’t sure how he could ever be worth that. 

“Keith,” Shiro says gently. 

Keith shivers despite himself, dropping the stick. He looks up at Shiro and he’s sure he must look baleful. Shiro makes a thoughtful sound. 

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says. “Should I not watch them? I can close my eyes if it happens again.”

Keith grunts, crossing his arms and then quickly uncrossing them. 

“… I don’t mind that,” Keith says. He’s just grateful there are no memories of Keith talking about his crush on Shiro with anyone. He never breathed a word of that to anyone. That secret, at least, is safe with him. “It’s you. You can see.”

Shiro nods a little and stands, moving around the fire so he can drop down next to Keith. Keith’s grateful for the physical closeness, even more so when Shiro doesn’t try to take him into his arms and hug him. He likes it when Shiro touches him, but sometimes he feels too skittish, feels too much like a livewire. He thinks he might rattle apart in Shiro’s arms. Simply having Shiro sitting beside him is comforting enough. 

Keith gulps. “For you— some of your memories might show. I— I can close my eyes if that happens. If you don’t want me to see.”

Shiro looks small for a moment, like he hadn’t considered the possibility that his memories might be on display, too.

“… I don’t want to upset you,” Shiro says. He turns his wrists, his bracelets glinting in the firelight. “If it shows anything about my stays in the hospitals, or— or something like that.” 

“Shiro,” Keith says. “Don’t worry about me. If you don’t want me to see, I won’t. But I can handle things. I… I can handle anything you throw at me.” 

“I’ll stop being so cool to you if you see me in my awkward gangly preteen phase,” Shiro says, and Keith can see it for the deflection it is.

He takes the bait, knowing full well that it’s a distraction. “I’ve _never_ thought you were cool, Shirogane, you big dumb space nerd.” 

Shiro grins, relief shining in his eyes. 

Only later, much later, once they return their attention to the fire, both of them knelt before its flames, Shiro says, “If you see my memories— I don’t mind, either. Not if it’s you, Keith.” 

-

Keith half-expects to see some of Shiro’s memories, but they never come. The memory flashes aren’t consistent, but when they arrive it’s usually another childhood memory of Krolia’s or a random snippet of Keith’s past. They never see Shiro’s, as if the Quantum Abyss doesn’t even realize he’s there, so displaced by time that the time magic can’t make sense of him. 

Shiro watches Keith’s memories and is always quiet afterwards. Keith isn’t sure what Shiro could be thinking, what he sees, when all of Keith’s past unfolds before him. 

“You sure you don’t mind?” Shiro asks him only once, when a memory recedes, and Keith stays far too quiet afterwards. 

“I don’t,” Keith says and he means it. It’s Shiro. Shiro already knows so much of Keith— it doesn’t feel exposing for Shiro to watch. Somehow, it feels like another door unlocking between them. 

“In that case,” Shiro says, smiling so wide he looks like he’s glowing. “You were a really cute baby, Keith.” 

-

Keith is used to the monotonous routine of the passing days. If it weren’t for Krolia’s counting methods, Keith would have no idea how much time does and doesn’t pass. 

Shiro’s presence makes it easier, if only to give him someone new to talk to. Not that he and Krolia talk too much, the silence always stretching like a river between them, too deep to tread across. Keith isn’t sure if it’s purely his own perception of it or his own insecurity when it comes to speaking with Krolia, but it weighs on him like an anchor that grows ever heavier.

Krolia is silent and still, so often. Keith has no idea if it’s a trait of the Galra or if it’s simply a Krolia trait. Maybe it’s just how she is around Keith, uncertain how to speak with him. He wouldn’t blame her, really— maybe he’s too difficult to speak to, too difficult to know. Maybe he's not worth knowing.

Shiro is like a strange go-between. He speaks easily with anyone, Keith knows. It’s part of Shiro’s talent— easily charismatic, easily friendly. He can set anyone at ease and command a room without effort. He is easy to know and easy to love, Keith thinks miserably. 

The whale has traveled through a section of the Quantum Abyss where the suns set far earlier than usual. It’s just as well. Shiro has a sunburnt face from a few days ago and it looks painful. He’s spent the bulk of the day resting in the cave and Keith suspects he might be dealing with muscle aches. He heard the medical bracelets chirping earlier, although he didn’t ask Shiro about it in front of Krolia. 

“I can take first watch,” Keith says as Shiro yawns. 

He’s used to taking first watch, waking Krolia halfway through the night for the second watch. He’s gotten used to functioning on four hours of sleep. Having Shiro as a third watch is almost luxurious, although Keith’s body hasn’t gotten the memo that he’s allowed to sleep for longer.

He watches the darkness, but no creatures come. They rarely do, but it gives Keith something to focus on that isn’t his wandering, swirling thoughts. Sometimes, he wishes he had a monster to fight, if only to give him something new to focus on. 

Those are battles more easily won, after all. 

He turns his head, watching Shiro as he sleeps. He’s curled on his side, his back to the fire and to Keith, his cheek cushioned against his arm. Keith tried to insist on letting Shiro use the makeshift pillow he made a few months back, but after the second night in the row waking up to it tucked beneath Keith’s head, he knows better than to insist.

Shiro looks strangely unreal, lying near the fire like that. Not quite fragile, but unearthly. Like if Keith were to blink, he’d simply disappear. Shiro’s always felt like that to Keith in some ways— ethereal, like he’s always just a breath away from losing him entirely. 

Keith reaches out to Shiro before he even realizes he’s doing it. He bites his lip, uncertain, before he touches the longest bits of Shiro’s hair— brushing it aside from his face. Shiro sleeps on, unmoving. Keith’s fingertips ghost the briefest shadow of Shiro’s jaw before he withdraws again. 

He turns back towards the darkness, bringing his knees to his chest and focuses. 

Eventually, enough time pass that he can wake Krolia up for the second shift, crawling to his usual spot as soon as she wakes properly. He curls in on himself, staring at the wall opposite him. He watches the way shadows flicker and dance across the stoneface, his usual nightly routine as he waits for sleep to claim him. He sees patterns in it, although nothing that makes sense or is truly there, just like the way he used to see monsters in the cracks in his ceiling as a kid. 

His dad would always sing him a lullaby when he had a nightmare. Keith doesn’t remember the words, but he thinks of the melody sometimes. It drifts in and out of his mind. 

He tries so hard not to think about his dad most of the time. 

He hears the wolf shift towards him and then feels him curl up into a tight ball at the small of his back. Keith sighs, closing his eyes and listening to the sounds of the popping fire. If he stays still long enough, eventually exhaustion will overtake him and he can sleep. He’s tired of the way his thoughts roil through him— all this nostalgia seeing Shiro again pulls up from within him. Lingering on what’s past never helped him before and it’s hardly going to help him now.

He doesn’t know how long he lies there, waiting for sleep. 

“You are not sleeping,” Krolia says in a low voice. 

At first, Keith thinks she’s addressing him, but then he hears Shiro say, “Too much on my mind, I guess.” 

Keith listens as Shiro shifts and sits up slowly. The movement is unhurried, although it seems less for sleepiness and more for care not to hurt himself. Keith feels his heart squeeze, wondering if maybe Shiro is in more pain than he’s letting on. He opens his eyes, unsure what it is that keeps him from leaping upright to care for Shiro. 

He thinks of the betraying touch of his fingers through Shiro’s hair— and wonders if he felt it. His heart speeds in his chest, pounding loud enough to flood his ears. He doesn’t dare move. 

“Your watch is not for some time,” Krolia says. Keith thinks it might be a sympathetic tone, something almost nurturing. Almost motherly, if he let himself think it. He’s not sure he’s willing to think it.

“I know.” 

“You are worried?” 

Shiro hums, his voice cast low, as if afraid to wake Keith up. It seems that neither of them realizes Keith’s already listening in and he wonders absently if he should make himself known now. 

Before he can do so, Shiro says, “I’m kind of making myself not think about the whole time travel thing… just in case I’ve just gone missing back home. But, I mean, I guess Keith doesn’t remember that happening, so we’re not creating a time paradox. Maybe I’ll just go back to the same moment I left.”

“Perhaps,” Krolia agrees. “Time here is strange.” 

“Keith said the same thing,” Shiro says, fondness coloring his voice. He pauses and then adds, “Maybe this is all just some fever dream for me, but that feels really existential.” He sighs, shifting again. The fire cracks, likely as a result of Shiro adjusting one of the logs to flip it over or to add new fuel to the fire. 

“You’ve handled it well,” Krolia says. “Far more than some might.” 

Shiro chuckles and Keith can imagine the way it’d light his eyes up. He’s so handsome it’s nearly unspeakable sometimes. “We Humans are a stubborn bunch.” 

“I don’t presume to know what Humans are like based on my limited experience,” Krolia says. “But the ones I’ve met are kind.” 

“Kind and stubborn?” 

There’s a thread of amusement in Krolia’s tone when she responds, “Yes.” 

“How would you describe Humans, then?” Shiro’s polite, as he always is, but there’s no denying his curiosity in his tone. He probably can’t help it. Keith suspects it’s a long-held dream of Shiro’s to speak with aliens about the mundanity of living. 

“Resilient,” Krolia says without hesitation. “Adaptable.” 

“I guess those are good things to be known for,” Shiro says.

“The Galra are resilient, too, but in a way far different from Humans.” 

Shiro is relentless in his responses. “And how would you describe Galra?” 

“Wayward,” Krolia says. “We are without our home planet, have been for thousands of years, and it shows. Whatever culture we once had is gone, warped into something wartorn and bloodthirsty.” Krolia is quiet and then says, “Galra can be cruel.” 

“So can Humans,” Shiro says. “You don’t seem cruel to me.”

Krolia chuffs, the softest sound that’s not a scoff nor is it a laugh. It’s something unique to her, the sort of sound she makes when she wants to disagree but isn’t sure if it’s worth the trouble. 

“We are all cruel in our own ways,” Krolia says. “I am unsure if Keith would agree that I am not cruel.” 

Keith nearly startles at the sound of his own name, but Shiro hums a puzzled sound. “Keith wouldn’t say that.” 

He sounds so sure. Keith’s heart starts pounding again, beating a steady tattoo against his ribs. Even the small ways in which Shiro believes in him can leave him breathless. 

“As I said,” Krolia says. There’s a finality to her tone. “You are kind, even if you are wrong.” 

Keith’s fingers curl in the dirt, itching closer towards fists. He’s not sure how to react, hearing the words— if Krolia is right or if Shiro is right. 

“You don’t have to justify anything to me,” Shiro says in a low voice, like he’s been scolded. 

“I wasn’t going to.” Krolia sighs, her shadow shifting across the wall as she stands, moving to a new spot closer to the fire. Keith isn’t sure if she’s put herself closer or further from Shiro. “I’m only speaking of what is the truth.” 

A strange silence follows the statement, a crackling silence settling between the three of them. Keith stares at the wall and does not let himself think. He only listens. He documents every shift, every sigh, every breath, every different whisper of a word. He doesn’t know what to make of the conversation. 

And then Shiro asks, “Do you think Keith is cruel?” 

“What?”

Shiro doesn’t back down. Keith knows that stubborn quality to his voice— the way his eyes would be starbright, his expression solemn. Once he knows what he wants to say, he never backs down. He is relentless. _Resilient,_ as Krolia said. 

“Keith is part Galra. Do you think he’s cruel?” Shiro asks again. 

Silence meets the statement, and Keith can only guess at the way they must look at each other in that moment, the fire flickering and popping as it burns. Keith stares hard at the wall, unsure what to feel. 

“… No,” Krolia says after a long pause. “But the universe has been cruel to him in many ways.” 

Shiro doesn’t disagree and they fall into a sort of quiet that Keith can’t place. He feels his eyelids going heavy despite his best efforts and it takes all his willpower not to let them shut again. He might feel bad for the eavesdropping, but not enough to yet make himself known, and now that he’s listening— he doesn’t want to stop. 

He’s justified, he thinks. They are talking about him, after all. 

“You mean a lot to him,” Krolia says after a moment. “That much would be clear even if I didn’t see all the memories you share.” 

Keith can hear the smile in Shiro’s voice. “He means a lot to me, too. He’s my best friend.” 

Warmth erupts in Keith’s chest. It’s a small thing, but any time Shiro calls him such, it feels like a miracle. He’s not sure what he did in his life to deserve Shiro’s loyalty, but he’s grateful to have it. 

He thinks of how soft Shiro’s hair felt, sliding between Keith’s fingers. The perfect cut of his jaw. The way he smiles, always, when he sees Keith— like he can’t believe he gets to spend time with him, too. 

“Keith is…” Shiro pauses, and then breathes out a little, anxious breath. “Sorry. Uh. You probably don’t need me telling you about him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to seem condescending,” Shiro says slowly, like he’s weighing his words. 

“No,” Krolia says quietly. There’s something in her voice that Keith can’t place. “There is no one in this universe who knows him better than you do, I suppose. Whatever you wish to say, you aren’t wrong to say it.” She shifts and the fire crackles, sparks leaping into the air. 

They fall into a silence, although Keith isn’t sure if it’s a comfortable one or not. He isn’t sure if he should feign waking up now or not. He stares at the opposite wall of the cave, watching the way Krolia and Shiro’s shadows splay out across the uneven surface. They look warped like that, like only a passing memory of who they are— already too far away for Keith to place them. He longs to turn over and watch them. 

“Keith is… good,” Shiro says, the affection seeping into every corner of his voice. “He cares a lot but isn’t sure how to show it, sometimes. Like he has too much of it and nowhere to put it.” 

“Yes,” Krolia says softly.

“He’s amazing. Brilliant, even,” Shiro says. He sighs again, the softest, most wistful sound Keith’s ever heard. “He’s going to do so many incredible things.”

“Yes,” Krolia says again. 

Keith forces himself to keep breathing, not letting his breath hitch. 

Shiro chuckles, the sound heartfelt and overwarm. “And he cares. He cares a lot.” 

Krolia is quiet, as if uncertain how to respond to that. Keith wonders if she agrees— if she looks at Keith and thinks of him as kind. 

Keith isn’t sure if he is kind. He isn’t sure if Shiro is right or if it’s just one other thing he’s mistaken about, when it comes to Keith. 

“What I mean is…,” Shiro says, “if Keith didn’t care at all, you’d know it.” Shiro goes quiet again at that, letting the words settle. The only sound in the cave is the crackle of the fire. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this. You should really speak with him yourself.” 

“You are a good companion to him,” Krolia says. 

Shiro chuckles. “I try.”

“I’m grateful,” Krolia says. “It’s good that he has you. There’s much that I…” She pauses. “Well. As you say. I should speak of this with him.” 

Keith keeps his breathing as even as possible and doesn’t let himself move. He isn’t sure how to describe the twisting inside his chest, an ever-tightening like the valves to his Blade suit going too tight, too quickly. 

He clenches his eyes shut, unsure if he’s fighting back the sting of tears or the sting from the fire’s smoke. He doesn’t let himself sniffle. He wishes it were so easy to divorce himself from the pulse of his emotions, too. 

“You remind me of him,” Shiro says at last. 

Krolia sounds surprised when she answers, “Do I?” 

“You both think so loudly,” Shiro says and laughs softly. “A lot more goes on in your head than you ever tend to say, I guess.” He chuckles again. “You can rest,” Shiro says. “I’m not going to be able to sleep for a while. I’ll take the last of your watch, if you need to sleep.” 

There’s no way Krolia will accept that, Keith thinks. 

“No,” Krolia says. “You should rest, even if you don’t sleep. Get closer to the fire.”

Shiro takes the instruction without protest, likely unwilling to fight Krolia. Keith listens to Shiro shift, lying down slowly. He’s done well in hiding it, but Keith knows he’s likely suffering more muscle pain than he’d ever let on. Keith wonders if Krolia noticed. 

Keith stares at the wall in silence. The realization that he knew what Krolia was going to say before she said it washes over him. The realization that he could read her movements and tone as easily as Shiro hits him soon after. It surprises him to know that he does know her, even if in some small way. 

-

“I heard you last night,” Keith says the next day, as he walks with Shiro towards the river. 

Their task this morning is to bathe— poor Shiro’s been here long enough that he’s starting to squirm uncomfortably when he sits. They left together, leaving Krolia to tend to the fire and hunt for breakfast. There’s really no reason they need to go together, but Keith insisted on keeping Shiro company, just in case of any monsters. 

Keith’s been working up the nerve to mention the conversation from last night since he woke in the morning to a sleepy looking Shiro finishing his shift on watch. 

“I thought maybe you were awake,” Shiro says after a moment. “I noticed your breathing change towards the end of it there.”

There’s no judgement in his voice for having caught Keith eavesdropping and he’s grateful for it. They were, after all, talking about him. So it seems only fair that Keith should listen. 

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” Shiro says gently, his expression apologetic. 

Keith shakes his head. “No.” 

Keith doesn’t have the heart to ask if he was awake during Keith’s watch, too. If he felt Keith’s fingers in his hair. 

“Are you okay?” Keith asks instead. “You were moving a little stiffly when we woke up.”

Shiro laughs. “Nothing gets past you, huh?”

It isn’t an answer, but it’s an admission more than anything else. 

“Do you need help with…?” 

Shiro chuckles as they reach the river’s edge, bridging through the trees. “I can handle this much on my own, Keith. I promise.” 

He shoves playfully at Keith’s shoulder, but there’s hardly any force in the touch. Keith turns away politely as Shiro strips down. It’s hard not to blush, picturing every inch of Shiro’s bare skin exposing inch by inch. He tries very hard not to think about it.

He hears Shiro step forward, wading into the water with only the softest hiss at the water’s chill. Keith only looks back towards Shiro once he hears him dip beneath the water’s surface, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. 

Keith hops from rock to rock, finding a big enough one that he can sit on to keep Shiro company while he bathes. He watches Shiro pop out of the water again, droplets sliding off his skin, his hair plastered to his forehead until he sweeps it away. 

He looks beautiful like that— sunburnt and fatigued, but smiling all the same. The water runs over his sunkissed skin, his hair dark and shining in the starlight. 

“Shit, that’s cold!” he says with a barking laugh. 

“You get used to it,” Keith says. “Move quick. I don’t want you to get more sunburned.” 

Shiro nods with a thoughtful hum. Keith twists around to scoop up some algae from a still pool behind him and offers it to Shiro. He warned Shiro about it, but Shiro still wrinkles his nose as he takes it and tentatively scrubs it over his arms. 

“Sorry I talked about you, though,” Shiro says after a pause. 

“It’s fine,” Keith says, dismissing it instantly. He fiddles with the threadbare parts of his suit, the worn edges at his elbow, unsure what else to say. “Do you want me to clean your clothes for you?” 

“I think I’ll die if you clean my underwear for me, Keith,” Shiro laughs. 

“Right…” 

Keith watches Shiro clean himself and then wade back towards the shoreline, picking up his clothes to clean himself. He leaves the jacket behind as a towel but otherwise spends the next few minutes scrubbing, washing, and wringing out the clothes. Keith lays them out on the rocks for him once he’s finished. 

It’s clear Shiro wants to say something more. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the way Shiro keeps glancing at him, eyes sweeping over his face, as if studying him. 

Keith tilts his head, humming as he arranges Shiro’s clothes for him. He does not let himself think too hard about holding Shiro’s underwear— a cute, clingy pair of black briefs. 

Keith clears his throat when Shiro’s gaze lingers. “What is it?” 

“Things are kind of awkward for you with your mom, huh?” Shiro asks. 

That’s one way to distract Keith from Shiro’s underwear. He looks up at him to find Shiro’s eyes already on him. It makes Keith flush, the spots of red rising high on his cheekbones and kissing the tops of his ears. 

He forces himself to sigh, shrugging one shoulder. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Shiro says. “But you know I’ll always listen.”

“I know,” Keith says. For all that Shiro says that Keith is kind, the reality is that it’s Shiro who’s kind. Keith looks down at his hands, limp in his lap. “It’s just weird. She’s a stranger. And I… I don’t know.” 

Shiro hums. 

“I’m just so used to being on my own,” Keith says. “She left. My dad left. It was just me up before I— well, before I met you.” He looks up at Shiro again, offering a wobbly smile. “It feels strange that she could just… be here.” 

Shiro hums again, softer this time. “I get that.” 

“Anyway, I’m just not… I don’t know. People always talk about the maternal instinct or whatever. But I don’t know.” 

Shiro makes a distressed sound at that, his brows furrowing. “You don’t think she cares about you?” 

Keith shrugs, the truth of the action stinging far more than the thought itself. “Maybe the Galra don’t work like that.” 

As soon as he says it, he knows it’s uncharitable. Especially to Krolia. There was no artifice in her expression as she said goodbye to him as a baby, the night she left to protect them both. He knows it wasn’t easy for her. He remembers that memory like it’s been branded against his own skin— the heartbreak in her eyes as she touched his brow one last time and then left him for nearly two decades. 

But she still did it. There could have been another way. Maybe it’s selfish to want it, for her to have stayed or for her to have brought them with her. Anything. Something. He knows he shouldn’t blame her for it, that he’s being a child, but he feels it still. 

He thinks of their first day in the Quantum Abyss. There’d been no hesitation as she leapt in front of the flash of light, shielding Keith. 

He has no idea if she’d have done that for anyone or if it was simply that he’s her child. 

Keith shakes his head. “I can’t tell if she cares or if it’s just— evolutionary instinct, you know? Obligation. ‘I have to care because he’s my son,’ sort of thing.” 

He startles when Shiro’s hand lands on his knee. It’s a gentle touch and Keith stares down at it. It’s Shiro’s right hand, still fully human, with the tiniest little scar along his knuckle. He’d almost forgotten about that scar— a lingering childhood injury involving a waffle iron and a roller skate. Shiro had told him about it once while laughing even as Keith cringed at the antics and aftermath. Keith covers Shiro’s hand, patting it once. 

“Keith,” Shiro says softly. 

“Sorry,” Keith says. “It’s just strange.” 

“I get it,” Shiro says. “You know I do.” 

Keith nods, sighing out. 

“… To actually answer your question from before,” Shiro says, leaning back to stare up at the sky beyond the space whale’s atmosphere, all those looping black holes and pulsars. His hand lingers on Keith’s knee. “I don’t know what I’d do if my dad suddenly showed up in my life again.”

“Yeah,” Keith says quietly. 

“But,” Shiro says, looking back at Keith. “I think it’s… worth remembering that your mom’s here now.”

Keith sighs. Shiro is too good and too kind— he always wants to see the best in everyone. He did it with Keith, after all. 

“Not sure if it was by choice or not.”

“Maybe,” Shiro says. “But she’s here. And that can count for something.” 

Keith’s sure his expression is wounded. Shiro smiles at him, gentle and understanding, and Keith appreciates that about Shiro— how even in this, Shiro isn’t condescending, isn’t disparaging, isn’t guilting him for what he feels.

Keith moves to pull his hand off Shiro’s, but Shiro catches him. He holds tight to Keith’s hand, refusing to let go. 

“Sometimes, that’s all it can be,” Shiro says solemnly despite the smile. “And that’s okay, Keith.” 

“Thanks,” Keith says with a sigh. “For not saying how I should be happy she’s here or grateful she’s around now or that I should forgive her instantly or— or something.” 

“I’d never tell you that.” Shiro shrugs. “You know it’s complicated with my dad, too.”

Shiro doesn’t speak about his dad often. Keith can recall only once at the Garrison, when Shiro was a little loopy from sleep deprivation and possibly alcohol, frowning as he said, _I don’t understand why good dads have to die while shitty ones get to live._

It was the only time Keith could describe Shiro as uncharitable, as morose. Keith hadn’t disagreed, but it’d surprised him to hear Shiro say as much. It’d felt like a secret that only Keith got to know about Shiro and that’d made Keith feel like he belonged. He’d leaned closer into Shiro’s side until he took the hint and wrapped his arm around Keith’s shoulders, holding him tight.

 _I’m sorry about your shitty dad,_ Keith had dared to say and it had made Shiro laugh, something lighting up in his eyes. He’d patted Keith on the shoulder and hummed, saying nothing more. 

“I just mean,” Shiro says now, “that it’s not wrong if you feel angry with her or betrayed still. Abandoned.” Shiro hoists himself from the water. Keith blushes, grabbing for Shiro’s jacket and thrusting it out to him. Shiro chuckles, taking it and draping it around himself for modesty’s sake. 

As he settles, he threads his fingers together over his knees. It makes him look smaller, curled up with his knees to his chest. It’s almost endearing, to think of Shiro as small. 

“From what you’ve told me, she did what she felt was best to keep you and your dad safe. You… have a right to be sad about it.” Shiro pauses, as if debating what he wants to say next. “And to be angry with your dad.”

Keith startles. “My dad?”

“If you are,” Shiro says. He blinks at Keith. 

Shame floods through Keith at the thought of it, not because of the suggestion but that it’s true— and the realization that Shiro knows it. He probably knew it from the start. 

Keith curls in on himself, looking away from Shiro. “He kept so much from me. He never told me anything… I spent all this time thinking Krolia didn’t care about me at all, that she never wanted me, and he never… He never told me anything. He just let me think that.” 

“I know, Keith,” Shiro says quietly. 

Keith takes a steadying breath, fighting the urge to cry again. There have been far too many times since Shiro’s arrival where all he’s wanted to do is cry. He hasn’t cried since the desert, not really. He doesn’t want to start now. 

There must be something in Keith’s expression that betrays it— Shiro makes the softest sound, and then shifts. He reaches out to Keith, his arms opening in an invitation for a hug. Keith breathes in sharply and then darts to him— goes to him before he can overthink it, question it. He sinks into Shiro’s arms and doesn’t let go. 

Shiro’s arms wrap around him so easily, seemingly unbothered by his near-nakedness. He holds Keith and Keith buries against him, nose to his clavicle, his front dampening from lingering river water. It doesn’t matter. Shiro radiates warmth. 

“You know what Phillip Larkin says…,” Shiro murmurs and then recites: “‘They fuck you up, your mom and dad.’” 

“Who?”

“A poet,” Shiro says, rubbing Keith’s back. 

Keith wants to laugh. He gives Shiro a perplexed look. “Why do you just know a poem right off the top of your head?”

Shiro laughs. “Hey! I read it when I was thirteen and it resonated. Plus, it said ‘fuck’ and I thought that was so cool for a poem.” 

Keith shakes his head, affection flooding through him. Shiro chuckles, his cheeks turning red as he watches Keith, and then tugs him back into the hug. He holds Keith tighter to him and the steady beat of his heart is far more reassuring than anything else to Keith. He closes his eyes, leaning against him. 

Shiro rocks him, just a little, the gesture thoughtful and serene. “Keith,” he murmurs, drawing Keith’s attention yet again. “Nobody can tell you how to feel about your parents. And there’s nothing wrong with being angry at them, or unhappy about how things went. That doesn’t make you a bad person.” 

Keith nods. He and Shiro have talked about this before, long nights wasted away past curfew at the Garrison. Maybe it’s why he sees Shiro as the only family he’s ever really had, that thought of the chosen family over the born family. _Blood means very little if they aren’t willing to spill it for you,_ Shiro had said with so much gravity and intensity. 

At the time, Keith remembers feeling a little bitter despite feeling understood. Shiro, after all, has a mother who loves him. Keith had no one but Shiro. 

“She’s here now,” Keith mumbles.

“She is,” Shiro says. “And whatever you decide to do with that, it’s up to you. She’s here now and you aren’t alone… that counts for something, I think. If she wants to be your mother, I think that counts for a lot more.” 

“Maybe.”

“The rest can come,” Shiro says. “With time.” 

Keith isn’t sure how to respond at first, his fingers twisting up and holding tight to the heavy wool of Shiro’s jacket. He shakes his head. “I haven’t been alone for a long time. I have you.” 

Shiro makes a sound. They pull apart from their hug, Keith tipping his chin up to look at Shiro. Shiro’s smile is a fragile thing, but no less felt. He looks overwhelmed for a moment, as if Keith’s words could have taken him by surprise. Maybe Keith hasn’t said it enough. Actions always spoke louder to Keith. 

The longer Keith stares at Shiro, the more Shiro begins to blush. His smile turns shy and he looks away. 

“I’m glad I can be here for you, Keith,” Shiro says. 

“Well,” Keith says. “I wouldn’t trust this with anybody else. I know you get it.” 

Shiro still smiles, but it dims into something almost melancholy. “Yeah.” 

“Your dad, he…” Keith trails off, unsure if he wants to press on it. “He wasn’t…?” He fumbles some more as Shiro watches patiently. Keith ducks his head. “Is it like— Krolia? Just not around? Or was he— bad?” 

He feels like a kid again asking it, like he can’t stomach to ask what he really wants to ask. 

But Shiro hums thoughtfully, seeming to understand what Keith means. He shakes his head. “My father never hit us or anything. He didn’t leave because of my illness or because I’m gay. Nothing like that.”

“Oh.”

“It’s not some easy thing where I can say he’s evil or an awful person,” Shiro says. He looks off into the middle-distance, lost in thought for a moment. “He’s just… not a good dad. Sometimes, I’d just wish he were more outwardly horrible. Then I’d have a good reason to hate him.” Shiro seems to curl in on himself, glancing at Keith before looking away. “Is that messed up?” 

Shiro looks small for a moment, young in a way Keith’s never let himself think about before. He’s so used to the image of Shiro he holds in his head— strong, confident, experienced. It always feels like an axis tilt when he remembers that, in the end, Shiro is just as young and uncertain as so many other people, for all his capabilities and strengths. 

Keith shakes his head. “No. I think a lot of people feel that way, sometimes.” 

He knows the darker moments, tucked away in the group homes, hating how painfully he missed his dad. How, sometimes, he’d wish he didn’t love him at all, if only so the aching emptiness in his chest would hurt less. If he didn’t love his dad, then it wouldn’t hurt to have him gone. If he didn’t love his dad, he couldn’t miss him. 

Keith scoots closer to Shiro, tucking up into his side. It’s a wordless exchange and Keith relaxes as soon as Shiro’s arm drops around his shoulders and draws him in closer. They sit like that, pressed together, and say nothing more. 

Keith closes his eyes, turning his head to press his face against the slope of Shiro’s neck. Shiro’s response is instinctive, his face pressing into Keith’s hair and inhaling slowly. They hold each other like that, curled around each other, absorbing one another’s warmth. The water rushes around them, but they’re as still as stone. 

Tentatively, Keith asks, “Would you want to know him?”

“I don’t know, honestly,” Shiro says, his lips ghosting against the crown of Keith’s head. “I think about it sometimes. If I got news he’d died, would I cry? Or would I be angry that I never got the chance to care about him enough to cry?” 

Keith nods. He, sadly, knows that sentiment well. He sighs out and feels Shiro shiver, his breath likely a damp whisper against his skin. Keith shifts as if to scoot back only for Shiro to tighten his hold, keeping him there. 

Shiro is casual, almost dismissive, when he says, “Eh, well, you know.” His hand rubs at Keith’s arm. “They say that’s the thing about becoming an adult— you realize your parents aren’t perfect.” 

“Guess so,” Keith says, his nose pressed against Shiro’s neck. 

“And, anyway… I’ve got you, too,” Shiro says and squeezes him tighter. “Like you said… I haven’t been alone in a long time.” 

Keith pulls back to smile up at Shiro helplessly. He feels all wavery at the edges, his smile a tentative thing. His throat feels too closed up to speak, but Shiro is patient and says nothing else, too. He smiles back at Keith, his eyes infinitely soft. 

“They do the best they can with what they know,” Shiro says, voice quiet. “And you can forgive them or you can move on. You find the people who actually matter. The family you want with you.”

He squeezes Keith again and it makes Keith want to cry, a sound hiccupping from him. He blinks rapidly to clear his vision, looking up at Shiro. 

Shiro doesn’t stop smiling at him, his touch reverent as he holds Keith. The stars burn bright above them. 

It occurs to Keith that he never heard Shiro talk about his parents while they were out in space. Keith knows so much about Lance’s family through his loud laments about missing them, knows about Hunk’s family through all of his stories around the dinner table, knows about Pidge’s family from her relentless search for them. 

Shiro is always quiet, in the same way that Keith is always quiet. It was Keith’s mistake to think that the silence meant a lack of concern or thought. Keith feels that wash of regret slide over him, the fact that he never invited Shiro to talk about his mom. 

Keith knows Shiro’s relationship with pain well— he tucks it away, hides it away. He never speaks on his time in the arena, never speaks of his disease, never speaks of his family. To the outside world, Shiro is always in control— confident, authoritative. A leader who never wavers. 

It was Keith’s mistake, to forget that Shiro’s silence didn't mean there was a void of feeling within him, too. 

Shiro lifts his hand, fingertips brushing at the hair on Keith’s forehead— the sweetest whisper of a touch. Keith feels himself blush, uncertain if it’s a mirror of Keith’s touch from the night before, or unrelated. Either way, Keith feels his heart leap. 

“You know,” Shiro whispers.

“Mm?”

“This is definitely the weirdest vacation I’ve ever been on,” Shiro says with a soft chuckle. 

It makes Keith laugh, too. Well, it’s definitely odd circumstances— traveling through space to a future version of his best friend, sitting on a river rock and waiting for his clothes to dry. 

Shiro looks magnificent in the sunlight, all glowing smiles and lean body. It’s strange to see him so much younger, his hair still so dark, not a single scar on his body. It’s a Shiro he never expected to see again— but still _Shiro._ The same man he’s loved since he was a dumb teenager with a chip on his shoulder. 

Shiro tugs playfully on a piece of Keith’s hair and says, “Your turn to bathe, right?” 

“Oh,” Keith says, throat dry. “Right.” 

Shiro turns away, testing the dryness of his clothes. He seems content to slip his briefs back on— still just as clingy and cute— and Keith jerks his face away before he gets caught staring at Shiro’s ass. He strips down quickly, using far less care with his suit as he did with Shiro’s clothes before he plunges feet-first into the river, submerging himself. His cheeks burn with a blushing heat that doesn’t dissipate even when the cold water kisses his face. 

He breaks the water’s surface again with a soft gasp of a breath to find Shiro’s eyes on him, sitting cross-legged on the stone, his coat laid out for Keith to use as a towel once he’s ready. 

“Your hair isn’t fluffy anymore,” Shiro says, teasing, and it’s such an inane, stupid statement. 

Keith shakes his head like the wolf does when he bathes, sending water droplets all around. Shiro gasps in surprise, laughing in a burst of delight. 

“You’re so silly,” Shiro says with infinite sweetness. He sounds so fond, so kind, and his eyes are so soft when he looks at Keith. He reaches forward, fingers twisting in Keith’s wet hair and tugging again. 

Keith’s heart leaps again. He swims to the edge of the stone, plants his hands on either side of Shiro, hoists himself up. He jerks forward and kisses Shiro before he can think better of it. 

He’s not even sure what does it this time, to finally make him bridge that distance after infinite nights imagining the moment he first kisses Shiro. 

For the moment before his brain catches up with his body, it’s a blissful feeling— Keith shivers from the cold water sliding off his body, his lips soft against Shiro’s. Shiro’s lips are parted in surprise, as if he were just about to speak, his breath stilled against Keith’s mouth. It’s a firm press of their lips together.

Shiro makes the softest sound of surprise, pulling back just a little to blink at Keith in bewilderment. “ _Oh._ ”

Keith doesn’t know how to place the tone. His eyes widen, the reality slamming into him just as swiftly. “Sorry,” he says in a rush, his entire face blooming deep red. “I— sorry.”

His hands tremble against the rock and he nearly slips back down into the water. Maybe he’ll drown. Maybe he’ll never have to look at Shiro’s handsome face again. 

“No,” Shiro says, blinking at him. “No, it’s okay. You just— oh. I wasn’t ready.” 

“Oh,” Keith says, feeling miserable. He sinks back into the water, all the way up to his chin. He’d submerge entirely, but Shiro shifts, moving onto his knees and reaching out to him, his hand plunging into the water to cup the back of Keith’s neck. 

“Keith,” he murmurs. “Wait.” 

Keith looks up at him, biting his lip. He half-expects Shiro to dismiss him outright, to laugh it off. He expects to be let down gently. Shiro’s always treated him kindly, but in the end, he’s still just a kid to Shiro. 

“Just forget I—”

“Okay,” Shiro interrupts. “I’m ready now. Go ahead.”

Keith frowns up at him, waiting for some sort of indication he’s misheard. 

Shiro tips his chin down. “Well?” 

Keith keeps staring, frozen in the water. Shiro waits patiently, sinking lower so that he’s nearly on his belly, level with the water. He lifts his eyebrows, studying Keith. 

And then he reaches for Keith properly, cupping his cheeks. Keith gasps as Shiro brings him in closer, tilting his head. Keith lurches forward, closing the last of the distance between them and pressing his lips to Shiro’s. 

The first kiss was too quick, but this is bliss. Keith sighs, trembling as Shiro slides his lips to his. He forgets to breathe, all the air rushing out of him as Shiro kisses him slowly, the softest whisper of his tongue enough to make Keith reel. He swims closer, clinging to Shiro. He hooks his hand around the back of his neck, buoyant in the water as he kisses Shiro back. 

The world flows around them, the stars bright overhead, but it’s only Shiro that he focuses on— the perfect hush of his breath, the drag of his teeth across his lip, his tongue in his mouth. Keith whimpers, something that’s a hitching version of Shiro’s name, and floats in the feeling of it. 

When Shiro draws away again, his eyes are bright, his thumbs sweeping a gentle rhythm across Keith’s cheeks. Keith can barely breathe, so blown over by the unexpectedness of Shiro’s returning kiss. 

“Sorry,” Keith says.

Shiro laughs. “You really have nothing to apologize for.” 

Keith doesn’t let go of Shiro’s neck, hanging onto him. It’s the only thing keeping him from floating down the river, aside from Shiro’s hands cupping his face in turn. He cradles him, his touch reverent and easy. 

“I know you don’t think of me like this,” Keith says.

Shiro tilts his head, giving him a puzzled look. And then he swipes his thumb across Keith’s cheek, his expression wry. 

“Keith,” he says and there’s something scolding in his tone.

Keith bites his lip, nearly startling when Shiro’s eyes flicker down, watching the action with unhurried interest. 

“Oh,” Keith whispers. 

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” Shiro teases. 

“You like me,” Keith says, testing the words out. 

“Mm,” Shiro says, one hand lifting to play with his hair again, pinning the wet strands away from his face. “Yep.” 

Keith might be doing a fish impression, opening and closing his mouth a couple times. Shiro seems amused by it. 

“I figured… we’d talk about it,” Shiro says. “Once I came home from Kerberos.” 

Keith’s eyes flicker up again in surprise, meeting Shiro’s eyes. He isn’t sure what to say to that. Shiro, of course, never said a word to him after crashlanding in the desert. But then, so much happened since then. 

Keith isn’t sure what to make of it. 

“We haven’t yet,” Keith says, uncertain. 

Shiro smiles at him, expression thoughtful. “You should ask me when you see me next. Whether I remember this,” Shiro says. “Knowing me— I’m waiting for you to say it.” 

Keith’s brow furrows. He tries to remember if Shiro’s ever given indication of remembering this, of knowing the future and what will happen with Keith. If, this whole time, Shiro knew that Keith was part Galra, that he’d eventually meet his mother again. 

It’s strange to think about it. 

Shiro chuckles, something apologetic in his tone. “I didn’t mean to shock you.”

Rather than answer, Keith kicks his feet under him, water splashing as he jerks up to meet Shiro’s mouth in another kiss. Shiro is more than eager to return it, sighing sweetly as he kisses him back, his thumb swiping a gentle arc across his cheekbone. 

They kiss like that for a few minutes more, until they’re both breathless with it. It’s Shiro who breaks the kiss again with a soft, amused chuckle. “I have to put clothes back on, Keith.” 

Keith thinks he really, really doesn’t, but he also doesn’t protest as Shiro turns away to dress again. 

“I will,” Keith says stupidly. “Ask you about it.”

Shiro looks at him over his shoulder as he tugs on his shirtsleeves, grinning. His cheeks are the perfect pink color that Keith loves so infinitely. 

“Good,” Shiro says and sounds approving. 

They spend the next varga at the river, washing Keith’s suit and laying it out to dry and sitting on the river stone. When Keith dares, he darts forward to kiss Shiro again— just because he can, just because it still feels like a dream. He goes breathless with it every time, overwhelmed with the feeling of Shiro’s hands on him, his fingertips tracing along his spine, his heart galloping away from him. 

They only stop the few times Shiro insists, turning away so Keith can dress in his suit and they can wade through the water again back to the shore’s edge. There, Keith presses Shiro up against a tree, kissing him and kissing him and _kissing him._ He’s nearly overwhelmed with it, with how easily Shiro comes to him, smiling against his mouth. 

Keith wants more, has barely been able to consider that reality when he feels that tickle of time-space swelling in the distance. He draws back from sucking on Shiro’s bottom lip to frown up at him. Shiro smiles back, mouth kiss-swollen, hair disheveled, and his cheeks a perfect rosy color. 

“Keith,” Shiro says gently. “Look at me.” 

“I am,” Keith says and feels a bit sappy with it.

Shiro laughs. “No, I mean— look.” 

He gestures down and it’s then that Keith notices the way Shiro seems to fade right into the tree bark. Keith startles, jerking back, but Shiro is surrounded by the strange light that surrounded him when he first arrived. As the time dilation surges in the distance, building like a near-cresting wave, Keith realizes what it is that Shiro’s trying to tell him. 

“I’ll see you soon,” Shiro promises, and it’s the last thing they’re able to say to each other before the bright light of the time-space wave crashes over them, engulfing everything. 

It swallows around them, nearly blinding. Keith tries to keep his eyes open, to keep his eyes on Shiro, but it’s not enough. When the light finally recedes— Shiro is gone. 

He’s gone as quickly as he arrived. The panic seizes through Keith, even as he knows that whatever time magic has brought Shiro seems to have brought him home again. Still, he spends a few minutes making sure Shiro isn’t anywhere along the river— calling for him and hunting for his discarded coat. But even that’s gone. 

His lips still tingle from the feeling of his kiss, his cheeks still flushed far too red to be a sunburn. He stares out at the river for a long time, wondering if he’ll ever get the chance to ask Shiro about this— if, someday, he’ll ever actually get out of the Quantum Abyss to ask him.

-

“Shiro went back home,” Keith says when he returns to the campsite. 

He must look miserable. Krolia stands slowly, frowning deeply. She stops short, a slightly awkward gesture, like she’d come closer but has to remind herself she shouldn’t. It’s an aborted gesture, her movements jerk with inaction. It looks foreign on her and Keith wonders how many times she’s done this— moved towards him only to stop herself and wait. 

Keith looks down at his feet. He swallows. “Do the Galra hug each other?” 

Krolia is quiet for a moment. “Not like Humans. But I know what a hug is.”

Keith looks up at her. She saves him the trouble of having to ask, silently opening her arms to him. She takes one step forward and then stops, waiting. 

She seems always to be waiting when it comes to Keith. 

It feels strange to be folded in her embrace. They both stand too stiffly, too awkwardly, the touch not nearly natural enough. But it’s better than nothing and Keith realizes in that moment just how desperately he’s missed touch. Her arms curl around him in a loose hold, the movements unnatural to her but not unpleasant if the small sigh she lets loose is any indication. 

Keith holds himself stiffly for a moment before he lets himself press into it. Just a little. Just enough. It’s not as easy as when Shiro holds him, but it’s better than nothing. 

“I thought he might have returned,” Krolia says after a moment. “When the flash brought no new memories.”

“Yeah,” Keith says. 

They untangle from the hug, stepping back in silence as if directed by an external force. 

“You will see him again,” Krolia says, and there’s nothing in her voice that suggests platitudes. She truly believes they’ll leave the whale.

Keith has to believe it, too. To save the universe. To find Shiro again. He nods his head. 

“Are you hungry?” Krolia asks. It’s a nearly awkward question. 

He remembers what Shiro said— how Krolia reminds him of Keith. Now that he looks, he sees her coldness for what it is: a strange awkwardness, an uncertainty of her welcome. 

Keith sits down at the fire. “Yeah. I can eat.”

Krolia nods, settling opposite him. She returns to peeling the hard exterior from one of the few vegetables that grows here. 

Keith watches Krolia as they sit before the fire. His mother, he reminds himself, although the word still feels too foreign, even in his mind. 

He sits down across from her, tucking his legs beneath him and putting his hands on his knees. He waits until she looks up from tending the fire, meeting his eyes before he speaks: 

“I _am_ angry with you. But I don’t want to be.” 

Krolia regards him, her eyes fathomless, and then she shifts with a sigh. “You are right to be angry with me.” 

Keith breathes out, unsure if it’s relief he feels to finally have spoken the words— and for Krolia to hear them. 

“I wish to make it right,” Krolia says. 

Keith processes the words, considering them. His hands curl against his knees. His heart pounds as he licks his lips and asks, “Are you going to leave… once we get out of this place?” 

Krolia shakes her head. “I will be wherever you wish me to be, whether that’s with you or away from you.”

“What do you want, though?” Keith says, unwilling to let it sit. He presses. He doesn’t stop pressing.

Krolia doesn’t hesitate when she answers: “I want to know you, Keith. I’d like to do what I can to make up for what we’ve lost.” 

“Shiro said… it meant something, that you were here now. That actions mean more than words.” 

Keith looks down at his hands, fisted in his lap. He appreciates that Krolia doesn’t make a move to comfort him physically because it still feels foreign, even as a small part of him longs for it. Maybe, in time. 

He breathes out, looking back up at her. “I want to believe that’s true. I want… I. I do want to know who you are.” 

Krolia nods. “You are what’s most important to me,” Krolia says, the words tentative— like she’s thought of them many times over but was never prepared to speak them aloud. But then, maybe she’s been waiting for the moment to do so. She’s been waiting for Keith. She almost smiles, although Keith’s not sure if it’s in her nature to do so. “But, yes… I know those are merely words. I will do what I can to prove that to you through actions. If you’ll let me— it’s a start.” 

Keith looks at her from across the fire, hands clenched to keep from shaking. He takes a breath and then nods his head, and watches his mom nod back. 

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s a start.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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